Complications
by Aschenhimmel
Summary: Faith, alchemy, politics, plots, secrets, disagreements...and a bit of romance as well. The story of a priest, a biochemist and a few others.
1. Prologue

Complications

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hammerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

_Prologue_

"Your Excellency, you're suggesting _utter_ madness."

She wished with all her heart that she _really _did said those words to Belfan Despar, cardinal or no. No doubt the old man rarely heard being accused of stupidity - the look on his face would've been enough compensation for whatever verbal barb she was going to suffer as a result. Unfortunately though, the old cardinal had twisted her arm, so to speak, and she had been too stunned for her own good.

_If it's only not for the house, _she thought dully. _If it's not for a friend. _She'll have to throttle Fau for this.

_It's so damn big._

And it looked so small from above ("Maybe I should've looked at it longer...but it's _so _high...")

Stepping out of the airship port building, the sights and sounds of the town assaulted her at full force. Aldebaran sprawled before her, a strange place, an unknown place, its people streaming past in a brisk pulse and for a moment her brain simply went blank at the realization of what she has to do. The whiteness of the town and the distant splashing of water was a change from the airborne sights, and before that the dark, magical and ancient walls of her hometown. And there were so many people, so different and lively, Schwartzvaldian and Midgardian mixing so freely that hostility seemed to be only an overrated prediction.

But if the hostility wasn't real, she wouldn't be here in the first place.

"This _is _madness," she whispered to herself, grasping back the bits of her composure. Well, she was here now. It felt more stupid turning back. With a resolute tug at her bag strap she began to trudge along the cobblestoned street, letting the crowd carry her, without a destination in mind and fully aware of it.

_How am I going to find one man in a town this big?_

She stared at the stones beneath her feet, drowning in the hubbub of the town, the mixed accents of brisk Midgardian and fluid Schwartzvaldian, more questions resurfacing. The cardinal had been so sure he'll be in Aldebaran. The why of it he knew and, to her dismay, refused to tell her. Normally she wouldn't agree to his request (or command), but it was her childhood memories at stake and the old man had the advantage. As sickeningly sentimental as it may sound she wasn't willing to have them reduced to a pile of ruins.

She bit her lip in quiet frustration. _Why go here, Fau? Why Schwartzvald of all places?_

_And why me?_

...

A/N: Finally. Reviews will be cherished :D


	2. First: Faurais

Complications

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hammerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

_Chapter 1_

He only had a name to start with. Ascena. No last name. A name, a face, in a city of hundreds, possibly thousands.

The sun was setting in the west, low behind the white walls of Aldebaran. The Clock Tower chimed at a distance, a deep, rumbling toll, not much different from the sound of Prontera's bells. Some looked and pointed at the old structure in wonder, while the rest moved on to their business, oblivious.

Faurais simply looked at the tower, not really seeing it. He leaned against the low canal wall, the water lapping gently against the white brick, thinking deeply.

He didn't consider himself to be the impatient sort, but his search was leading him into blind circles and frustrating dead-ends. He had asked questions, led into embarrassing situations and all he had was a vague confirmation that yes, there had been an Ascena who lived in Aldebaran a long time ago. And that was it. Tales began to vary wildly from there. She was a merchant who sold gems, no, a mage from Juno who studied the Clock Tower like any other. She was a daughter of a shoemaker. She was highborn and hiding from a determined lover. She was a noble's kept woman. She was a dancer. She was so many more, and Faurais knew all of them were lies.

He had expected it, yes, but confronting it face to face was entirely something else.

He imagined what could've happened if he hadn't discovered the truth. He wouldn't be here, first of all, weary and discouraged. It was easier being the ignorant heir, he mused dully. He stared at the rosary in his hands, a rich thing of polished jet beads and filigreed silver. The single feather engraved at the back of the crucifix, enameled in black, reminded him of the comfortable life he had left behind. Easier in ignorance, but a nagging madness made him take the harder way of truth.

His grandfather had been adamant on his decision not to allow him to leave the city. It was much too dangerous for the sole heir of House Despar, not with the uproar his cardinal grandfather had inadvertently caused by refusing Juno's request. Faurais didn't care a pinch about that. He considered himself removed from Cardinal Belfan Despar's complex world of politics and religion. They shouted, argued, quarreled almost to the point of physical harm...and the grandson relented in a sullen apology. Things gradually returned to normal. A fortnight later Faurais was slipping out of the mansion in the dead of the night, his destination Aldebaran...'enemy territory' as his grandfather would've called it.

There was a trace of guilt in defying the old man's orders though. After all, it was for his safety. _The heir's safety, _he reminded himself. He hastily pocketed the rosary and pushed himself away from the wall. _And I'm no heir._

His father _was _the heir, a corpse of three months. In the ceremonious ritual that had been his funeral, Faurais felt a sincere and heartfelt sorrow for the man's passing. The older servants in the mansion told him of a kind man, soft-spoken and always with a gentle smile. Others talked of a healer whose talents bordered on the miraculous. Relatives whispered about how his wife's death took the joy out of him, leaving a lifeless shell. A wife's death...Faurais knew the whole of it. _A wife's death and a son's birth._

He only met a dispirited man who never emerged from the depths of depression.

It was dark now, and the streetlights were flickering to life. He decided it was time to return to the inn where he was staying.

_Should I continue this? _It was a belated doubt, a part of him still holding back, but he knew the answer. It was too late to back out now. He had to do it...and do it quickly. Cardinal Despar wouldn't let his heir disappear like that.

He inwardly sighed. So complex. He only wanted to know...and he has no idea what to do with the truth, of what to do after finding it. Could he return to Prontera? The mansion barely felt like home, and so was the world his grandfather moved in. Where could he go? Schwartzvald was an entirely different world...and one of hostility, if he would believe the news. Three days in Aldebaran and he was sure people were simply overreacting, and that the old man's concerns were unfounded. He had yet to hear of a priest murdered, a monk stoned to death or a crusader crushed in a riot (which the people in Prontera constantly talked of). He had been wandering around in his robes and nobody paid him special attention, He liked it that way.

Rounding a corner, he felt something knock against his shoulder. He looked up.

The wild spikes of bright blonde hair, golden even in the twilight dimness, made Faurais blink. "Pardons," the man mumbled. The priest nodded once and walked on. An absentminded passerby...but he had the unnerving sensation of being watched as he left. He recalled the stranger's darting blue eyes, the way it swept from head to toe...

_A thief? _His hand automatically went for his pocket. The cold kiss of engraved silver met his fingers - he might not be the heir, but this rosary was important for another reason - and he was relieved..._wait._

Looking down at his side he realized that he hadn't hidden the rosary properly. The crucifix hung from his pocket in plain sight, the black feather catching the lamplight.

...

A/N: Firsties again, thanks to my beta, Klein, and to Attic-window, who reviewed. Fau is angsty to the point of inaction, yes. Reviews would be appreciated and cherished :D


	3. Second: Tempest

Complications

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hammerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

_Chapter 2_

An enameled black feather, curving downwards as thought it had fallen from a bird in flight and was now descending gently to the earth, caught Tempest's eye. That was enough.

What bothered him was whether he should tell _them _or not.

He wove in and out of the crowds, through narrow streets crisscrossing each other, farther and farther from the Clock Tower...and the 'target', as Erno had named the man.

Given the situation between Prontera and Juno, Tempest found it most unlikely that the priest-grandson of Schwartzvald's most hated cardinal will be in Aldebaran. Although he knew that the anti-clergy sentiments were stronger elsewhere in the republic, tensions weren't absent in the town. He was almost willing to bet that Zerei had been mistaken. But he had seen the Cardinal Despar in one of his rare visits to Prontera with Zarien. It was hard to forget a man with that forceful air, eyes still green and sharp even in old age. The priest's eyes were like those. And Tempest could still remember the rosary hanging from the old cardinal's neck, a rosary with jet beads linked by tiny silverworks, a black feather shining behind the crucifix.

_That priest, _he could remember Zerei saying, coming back to their hideout one day excited and pleased. _I swear that priest is a Despar. He has that damnable cardinal's look in him. _The others nodded; they were eager to get their hands on their perceived archenemy's relative...especially the leader, Erno. The unusual glint in the alchemist's eyes, the excited movement of the man's hands, was hard to forget. Tempest had a grim feeling what the group wanted to do with him.

The problem was, Tempest didn't want to get involved.

_I just want to save someone, _he thought glumly. Their initial plan had been to free the prisoners in Saint Capitolina - something they tried to do and failed superbly. It was the reason why he joined this group anyway, even if he had his doubts. Entangling himself into a grand hostage drama was not even in his wildest thoughts.

When the blonde knight reached their hideout - a small, single-storey house nestled between two taller buildings - he hesitated right at the doorstep. Erno had sent him to look and follow for this priest who had the cardinal's look in him, a man who frequented the markets and residential areas of the city asking questions. Tempest didn't want to tell them. But Zarien had often told him that he was a bad keeper of secrets, and an even worse liar. Tempest sighed. He wished Zarien was present. He always knew what to say.

If it was dark in the Aldebaran twilight, it was even darker inside the house. The ceiling hung a foot and a half above his head, the walls thick and gloomy and it felt the whole place was choking him. Only a single lamp lit the first room, making flickering shadows, and the second room's door was tightly closed. Tempest found himself staring at it, idly wishing that he was the sick person inside. He hated talking to Erno.

A thin, blonde man sat on a plain wooden chair directly across the door, looking at him with savage expectation. There was no else in the room. Maybe Erno sent them for errands. Tempest didn't know if it was good or bad.

"What took you so long?" Erno said in a deceptively calm voice. The usual fluid Schwartzvaldian accent acquired a brittle edge when he spoke, matching the sharp look in his pale eyes.

"Sorry," Tempest muttered apologetically. He found it hard to follow the priest, to take part of the alchemist's plans of justice. For Tempest, it sounded more like a manic revenge.

"What did you see? Is he truly the grandson of Belfan Despar?"

_Green eyes, black feather rosary, no Despar as young as that save for the grandson..._Tempest forced the words out. "I guess...he is."

"_Guess?_" Erno spat the word with venomous disgust. Tempest felt like backing away. "You had the whole afternoon and all you can say is _guess?_"

"Well...I...I saw..." He desperately tried to form lies, excuses, _anything_, but his mind was horribly blank. The alchemist's intense glare seemed to suck any dishonesty from him. "I saw him...he did look like the cardinal's...son...and he...and he has a rosary with him...similar to the cardinal's...and..."

A grating creak nearly made Tempest jump, cutting him off. Looking around he saw the bedroom door swung open, and a tall, blue-eyed man with spiky black hair stepped out. Tempest could've sighed - he wasn't sure if he didn't.

"Is Snow here-hey, Snowie!" Even the gloomy house couldn't dampen Zarien Merryweather's cheerful voice. "How's your little mission? Oh, don't tell me - I know it's boring. That's why I hate that kind of stuff. Still, I should have accompanied you at least, but Max was getting really talkative and..."

The black-haired knight continued on, oblivious to Erno's darkening expression and the increasing relief in Tempest. Zarien was Tempest's best friend, his _only _friend. They met in the Swordsman Academy of Izlude and like everybody else he felt gravitated towards Zarien's open personality. They got along extremely well, and the blonde knight thought it was because they were the only foreigners in their batch - they were both born in Schwartzvald, Tempest in Aldebaran and Zarien in Einbech.

"...he complains all the time, and it's driving me up the wall! He's worse than a half-sane injustice!" Zarien rolled his eyes in mild annoyance. "Something about headaches and that. The guy can take a slash in the gut but can't hold a headache. Hey, I told you to get that medicine for him, right? For headaches?"

Tempest blinked. "What?" And Maximilien was barely the talkative sort. Dry, yes, but not very chatty.

Zarien groaned loudly. Perhaps too loudly. "Aww, Snow! Don't tell me you forgot! Look, we have to get that medicine for him, else everyone will go crazy! You remember that old man selling brown flasks near the Clock Tower-"

"I am still talking to Tempest, Merryweather," Erno interjected with suppressed anger. Both knights turned to look at him - Tempest with anxiety, and Zarien with an innocent face. Undoubtedly the man didn't like being ignored.

"Well..." For a moment the dark-haired knight looked apologetic. Then he grabbed Tempest's arm and reached for the door. "It can wait! You heard what you wanted to hear anyway. See you! Tem, let's go!"

And they were out before Tempest could even fear the spiteful expression in Erno's face.

"That wasn't...very convincing," he said once they were a good distance away from the house. The air, although barely fresh in these parts of Aldebaran, was still a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere inside. "You never told me anything about any potion - we never had a chance to talk before I left."

Zarien laughed. "I know. That was the worst lie in my whole life, but Max is in a foul mood after Glau asked him questions and I have to endure all of his sarcasm afterwards. I hope Max heard what I said though." He laughed again, and Tempest felt he could do a little smile. "I just want to get out of that damn place. Gods, they're all a stiff lot! Even Max! They can drive a saint to madness, and they're not even trying!"

"Yeah," Tempest said with a sigh. "I guess it was a real bad idea to join them." Much worse, it had been _his _idea.

"Well..." Zarien said thoughtfully, running a hand through stiff black locks. Tempest knew it was his habit to ruffle his hair whenever he was thinking or troubled. "We have been heading in the wrong direction lately, although it seems only the two of us realizes that." He shook his head, eyebrows creasing to a frown. "What Erno suggests is madness! It's just...wrong! That priest is innocent, I am sure of it. It is not as if he was the one ordering alchemists to be imprisoned." He looked at Tempest. "I thought you weren't going to tell him. I mean, sure, he won't give up, but at least it will delay him somehow..."

"I tried," Tempest said, a measure of desperation creeping back to him. "I tried...really...but I..." His shoulders slumped in hopelessness. "I'm no good at lying."

"You've never been," Zarien said with an amused grin. He patted the blonde's shoulder. "Odin Church says the honest are the richest in heaven."

That cheered Tempest a bit. Zarien talked on, complaints and stories mixing in a steady flow, and as much as Tempest wanted to listen, he couldn't. He was deep into his own thoughts. Somehow if Erno's group did catch that priest, it would be his fault. Saying 'no' was easy when you think about it, and he should've done it, but _no_..._I'm always hopeless._

"...you don't like them; I do not like them either. What are your plans now, Snow?"

Tempest stared at his friend. Did Zarien just ask him what he, Tempest, wanted to do? Usually it was the other way around: Zarien was the one who made the decisions, and while sometimes Tempest aired his views, he simply went along with Zarien's plans.

But then this was _his _problem, not Zarien's. It wasn't Zarien's idea to join this group. It was _his _idea, and what a bad idea it was.

Looking off into the distance, unseeing, Tempest muttered miserably, "I don't know."

_I just don't._

...

A/N: Thanks again to Klein for the beta, and to Attic-window, Enzero and RicePaper for the reviews. You guys lengthen my life XP Tempest is quite...wimpy and effeminate. We'll redeem him later. By the way, doesn't this best friend duo seem a little bit too familiar (both blue-eyed, one blonde, one brunette)? :D Reviews will be very much appreciated!


	4. Third: A Chase

Complications

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hammerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

_Chapter 3_

"There it is!" Theresia giggled excitedly, huddling closer to the wall. Gilthienne stared at her in disbelief. "That is the inn where he is staying."

Gilthienne knew she had better things to do, like continuing her pet research about artificial soul transfer, but she had long learned to humor her cousin's little obsessions - which was, namely, to find and stalk handsome young men. That kind of behavior scandalized Gilthienne to no end - a Faerod doing _that _- but she gradually coped up. Theresia was a very valuable research partner when she was not in one of her moods, and ignoring her resulted in the worst distractions Gilthienne could ever think of.

So as her pride and common sense rebelled, the biochemist stood hiding with her sage cousin at a street corner, quietly thankful of the fact that it was nighttime and no one might possibly recognize her doing something this ridiculous.

"Look, oh look at him, Gilly! Do you think he is Schwartzvaldian? He has to be!" The brown-eyed sage continued enthusiastically, shaking her head in a fit of emotion. Wavy blonde locks swished about, hitting Gilthienne's face. The biochemist maintained her mature calm (with difficulty) and for a lack of better action and to avoid having hair in her mouth, she looked up and saw a black-robed man across the street. She recognized his clothes as belonging that of Odin Church's.

_A _Schwartzvaldian _priest? _She had heard of Schwartzvaldians (mostly from Aldebaran) who have been influenced by the wandering priests of Odin Church and have been converted to their religion. Her interest somewhat piqued, Gilthienne continued to watch the lone man walk down the street.

She could not see him too clearly because of the distance, but she could see enough. He was tall, taller than most of the Midgardians she had seen before, slender and with dark hair. His pale skin contrasted with his black robes, and his eyes were stark pinpricks of green.

_If it is about the height, yes, definitely Schwartzvaldian, _she thought. But staying in an inn? Was he from the cities, fleeing from the public's ill will?

"Is he not gorgeous?" Theresia sighed dreamily, interrupting her thoughts. "Just look at his eyes...and that lonely aura..."

"His nose is too long," Gilthienne commented, narrowing her eyes to see him better. "That complexion befits a woman more. His hair has a dull sheen too. And his mouth looked as though he had been frowning too much. An ill-tempered man, if I say so."

The sage glared at her and muttered something like "Avent had been born with a frown and will die with one."

"You have seen him now. Let us go home," Gilthienne said stiffly, repressing the urge to say something equally childish as well. This time, if Theresia refuses she will definitely leave the sage alone...or pretend to. As much as Theresia's antics baffle her, she was concerned for her cousin.

"Aw, Gilly...look!" Out of a corner emerged another man, thin with blond hair and plain brown clothes, and he approached the priest about to enter the inn. They began to talk.

_I do not give a damn if it is the Lord of Death talking to him about black daisies, _her sore self snarled. She very much wanted to go home already. All this hiding and stalking made her feel foolish. This was not _her _idea.

"Theresia, I _am _leaving." She turned around and began to walk away, her footsteps loud, expecting a cry from the sage.

The sage's reaction took Gilthienne by surprise.

"Shhh!"

Gilthienne turned around again, confused. "What-?"

Theresia was still on her spot, watching avidly. "Where are they going?"

Gilthienne looked despite herself, still bewildered. The priest left with the blond man, by the same direction where the green-eyed priest came. Soon they were out of sight.

The biochemist inwardly sighed with relief. Surely Theresia would give up now, with the man gone. They could go back to the vacation house. She was looking forward to dinner and a good night's reading about the properties of freshly extracted souls.

"Alright Resia, let us go home."

The sage straightened up and bounded after the two men without saying a word or even looking at her.

The biochemist stood on her spot in pure stupefaction.

Gilthienne Faerod wanted to scream, stamp her foot and head home. Instead she pursed her lips, balled her hands and stomped after Theresia.

...

A/N: As usual, thanks to Klein my beta and Attic-window for the review :D Yes, short, short chapter. I hoped it laid out the characteristics of Gil and Resia well (even if it's only Gil; Resia isn't really _that _important). Reviews will be cherished :D


	5. Fourth: Green, Silver and Black

Complications

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hammerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

_Chapter 4_

Gilthienne was born in Juno, and it was in the ancient, floating city that she spent most of her years. She visited Aldebaran often though, as her family had a vacation house in the canal town. Still she knew little of Aldebaran. The only places she knew by heart were the Nobles' Quarters (where her house was), the hospital her family owned, the Clock Tower and the major streets between them. The rest of the town, in her mind, was a warren of crowded streets and white block buildings. It felt like a biased representation, but tonight she discovered she was not far from truth.

She never knew that there were streets as narrow as the ones she was passing now, the walls barely three feet apart and littered with scrap she dare not to imagine what. Or that there were buildings that had become _this _grimy with neglect. What was the governor of Aldebaran doing, allowing this degree of squalor? She made a vague mental note to talk to Lord Herscher when she had the chance.

"_Resia!_" She hissed anxiously. Her cousin was still ahead of her, blond hair recognizable in the dimness and running with the ease of familiarity. The sage did not even seem to mind the filth around her. Gilthienne loathed thinking that Theresia spent a good part of her time discovering rat paths like this. "Theresia, _stop!_" She was out of breath, and the words came out as an agonized, inelegant croak.

She was secretly thankful when the sage finally stopped in her tracks, standing close to a dirty wall and a low stack of empty wooden boxes as the alley opened to a larger, more cluttered street. She could only see a single working lamppost, casting a flickering pool of light that reached a few steps short of their place. Gilthienne stared, half-dumbfounded and half-annoyed, as Theresia crouched behind the boxes like a thief.

She came to a halt a couple of steps behind the sage, panting and cold sweat beading her forehead, one hand clutching her chest. It had been a long time since she had run like that. And she hated it, especially with the mess it made of her hair.

"_Theresia,_" she said with rare roughness, holding the blonde's shoulder in a vise-grip. Most of the time she maintained her calmness, but this was the limit of tolerance. If she had tolerated her mad escapades before, it will all stop now. This madness was getting too far. "We. Are. Going. Home. _Now._"

"I do not like this."

Gilthienne blinked. "What?" Immediately she felt the overwhelming urge to hit herself. She always allowed herself to get easily sidetracked by Theresia's queer words.

Theresia looked at Gilthienne with sincere worry. "Why did they go here, Gilly? This is one of _those _places..."

The biochemist looked at the dim narrow alley, the clutter of boxes and waste, the tall grimy walls on either side of them and the web of clotheslines above her. She groaned, asking herself once again why she was disgracing herself. This was one of those sparsely populated areas of the town, the abandoned housing projects. Only the poorest and - she shuddered at the thought - rough ruffians ever lived in here.

"Why are _we _here?" Someday, somehow, she was going to discover how to suppress Theresia's madness and make her research-friendly self permanent.

"Maybe they will kidnap him!"

"As if we care," Gilthienne snapped in a low hiss. When the blond sage pouted, Gilthienne allowed herself the rare gesture of rolling her eyes in contempt and annoyance. And as she did so, she caught sight - again - of the priest and his companion.

The priest looked suspicious now; the other was distracted. The latter's sharp, stony features contrasted with the excited fidgeting of his hands. Now that she stared intently at him, Gilthienne thought that he looked somewhat familiar. That gesture was familiar too. The Institute of Alchemy leapt to her mind. Perhaps he had been her classmate?

Suddenly another man, shorter than the blond but much broader, crept out of the shadows just beyond the liquid pool of lamplight. Then another figure, tall and slim and draped in mage robes, appeared behind the priest. As the green-eyed stranger talked to the blond man the two crept closer behind him. A sick anticipation welled up in Gilthienne's stomach.

Gilthienne heard a sharp gasp - whether hers or Theresia's she was not sure - as the broad man struck the priest's head with a club. The green-eyed man collapsed on the dusty street, but the angle must have been wrong - he was still conscious. White light began to glow on his hands as he desperately tried to stand up again. The mage quickly knelt down beside him and placed a hand over his face. There was a small flash of light, and the white glow on the priest's hands disappeared.

The blond man looked on in satisfaction.

Gilthienne wanted to look away and run, or at least _do _something, but she could only watch. Two other men appeared, the shorter one blond and holding a sack. As the others restrained their victim the sack was slipped over his head. He kicked feebly as they wrapped ropes around his arms, and the big man struck him on the chest when they tried to tie his feet and failed. Gilthienne thought she heard him choke from beneath the rough sack.

_Ymir's heart, this _is _a kidnapping. _This was far more serious than she thought, and she had no intentions getting involved with it. You do not get kidnapped unless you were important. And an important priest kidnapped in Schwartzvald territory...

"Theresia, we have to get out of here," she whispered, shaking her cousin's shoulder. She heard the fear in her voice, but for the first time she forgot her pride. "Theresia...!"

"No! We have to help him!" The blond sage hissed back, resisting the pressure of Gilthienne's hand and trying to stand up.

Her patience snapping, the biochemist growled, "Gods in Asgard, do not be such a fool! You will get us killed!" As she stepped back she pulled Theresia with her, attempting to lead her away. The criminals were preparing to leave - they have not noticed them yet. She prayed to whoever was up there controlling destiny and chance that they never notice her and Theresia.

The sage stubbornly dug her heels into the ground and, grasping the boxes for support, broke free from Gilthienne's grasp. The biochemist gasped, losing her footing and only managed to stand upright by holding onto the wall. But Theresia overestimated her strength and knocked over a box.

The crash was deafening to Gilthienne's ears.

"Run!"

She was unsure whether she was the one who said that or Theresia, but she did run. And run fast she did. Her hair whipping wildly behind her, her lungs and legs overworked, Gilthienne never knew a time she had run like now, when her life was possibly at stake. Somebody was close behind her but she was too fearful to look over her shoulder.

A gunshot behind her made her scream, and for a split-second she feared the cold trickle of blood on her skin...but there was none. She did not stop running, making haphazard choices, left, right, left again, through narrow, unknown alleys, without any idea where she was going. She only wanted to get out of here. Gunshots chased after her.

The next thing she knew she was standing in front of a white brick wall, her arms extended in front of her, taking deep breaths. She could not seem to get enough. Her legs shook badly, and when she tried to move them it felt like she had three logs tied to each. Her lower lip trembling, she turned around and leaned against the wall, looking up as she tried to sense her surroundings.

Silence. An unnatural, tense, predatory silence. The moonlight slanted down the wall of a flat-topped building, the cool light falling short of her head-

The pointed roof of the Clock Tower was partly visible beyond it.

_The Clock Tower! _Not all was lost. If she could only go back to the plaza, then she would be safe. Surely no one would gun her down in the midst of everyone in town.

Gilthienne pushed herself off the wall...and for the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, realized that Theresia was not with her.

For a moment she was petrified with the thought that Theresia did _not _run after her. Perhaps she tried to help the fool priest..._Aunt Ella will kill me! _She took a very deep breath, deliberating. Going back meant danger and she was not exactly sure of where to go, but she had to find her cousin. Theresia was an idiot at times, but she was still her cousin, and her aunt had entrusted her to Gilthienne.

This time around she was resolved not to act like a disgraced coward. Fighting was not her forte, but she was prepared, somewhat. She mentally berated herself for forgetting that she had acid bottles with her, as well as a dagger hanging from her belt. She admittedly had doubts about her throwing ability, but she was confident of her acids' potency.

Gilthienne stared long and hard at her spot, recalling every single detail, even the angle of the wash of moonlight, the number of barred windows and the number of planks sealing each, before setting out on her way, a hand clenched tightly around one acid bottle. The tension was making her hand shake, the hairs at the back of her neck rising.

_Do not be a fool, Gilthienne. You can do this. You have created homonculi, brewed thousands of potions, researched on souls-_

A rustle to her left, deep into the shadows, near the street corner. Reacting on instinct she hurled the delicate bottle towards that direction.

There was a high-pitched, feminine scream, a man shouting "Look out!" and her bottle shattering into a million pieces on the pavement.

Gilthienne was wrestling with the straps of her second acid bottle when she recognized the scream.

"Res?" _Someone is with her?_

She had barely finished the thought when blond curls and brown eyes bounded out of the shadows, the smile so dazzling it stunned the biochemist.

"Res?" She repeated dumbly_. _All her worry and concern slowly drained to leave her with a numbing sensation."You...you are..."

"Fine and well!" Theresia said brightly. Then she pouted, jutting lip and puppy eyes and all. "That was a close call, Gilly! You do not throw acid bottles like that! And you left me! I almost thought you forgot about me, Gilly!"

"And where in Midgard were you?" Gilthienne said, finally regaining her former self. Now that she discovered that her worry and risk had been for nothing, now that Theresia was fine and well and _happy_, the biochemist wanted to rage. "Look Theresia, this is the last straw. Definitely the last. From now on no more ridiculous excursions, no more stalking, no more madness, no more embarrassment and you will definitely stay in the house for the rest of our vacation-"

Theresia raised a hand, and Gilthienne stopped, eyebrows raised in question. Once more she immediately felt the urge to kick herself for being distracted again. "Do not worry, Gilly. Someone saved me."

"I do not give a damn if Odin himself saved you in Ragnarok," Gilthienne groused, the words tumbling out from her mouth. Frustration was making her lose her cool.

"Gilly, you should thank him, you know. He fooled the gunslinger into thinking we went another way."

It took her a couple of seconds to fully process her cousin's words. She stared at the blond sage, disbelief rising within her in waves. "You did _not _bring one of them here did you?"

"Actually, she did."

Behind Theresia emerged a tall, lightly armored man. His hair was dark and stood on spikes, a few strands faling down the sides of his face. His eyes were a brilliant blue, the bluest she had ever seen. And she recognized him as the man who came with the sack-toting blond.

Gilthienne inhaled sharply when she realized that a sword - a two-handed sword, gods in Asgard - hung on his side. She automatically grabbed Theresia's wrist and pulled her near, away from the man. "Who are you?" Perhaps she could play this diplomatically. She only wished her voice did not sound so breathy and anxious.

To her surprise he flashed a friendly, dashing smile. He held up his hands. "Do not worry. I am not going to hurt you girls. I swear on that."

_Like I am fool enough to believe!_

"Gilly, that is not very polite," Theresia said in mild chastisement. Gilthienne realized that she had said it out loud. She was making too many mistakes already. The man only looked at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

The two of them took everything in a stride, while she was left acting like a...like a distressed harpy!

She took another deep breath. "Alright," she said in her calmest voice. "Let us presume I trust you. Now I ask - why did you help us?"

"Gilly, is it not enough reason that he is a good guy?" Theresia said, pouting again. "Zarien even needs _our_ help!"

The biochemist groaned. This was becoming more and more odd. It was becoming worse. It was becoming _ridiculous_! "And for what?" She said sarcastically, glaring at her then at this Zarien fellow. "To save the priest?" She wanted to laugh, if only she did not feel so ragged.

Zarien stared at her in pure, guileless astonishment. "How did you know?"

...

A/N: Thanks to Klein once more, and to Tela for the review! I invented certain things, like the so-called Nobles' Quarters and the existence of hospitals. Okay...so at least we know where we're going in this story. Reviews will be cherished :D


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